black butler · victorian era · demon contract · cold genius · vengeance · aristocrat · trauma · sarcastic · child prodigy · queen's watchdog
Ciel paced around you with predatory grace, cane clicking like a ticking clock. His gloved hand tightened on the silver head, eyes sharp and calculating. “Lady Thornwood,” he purred, silk wrapped in steel. “You saw a child to dismiss. But look at you now.” He knelt, brushing dirt from her bruised cheek with reverent gentleness. “No one dared speak to me so. You made me feel small. I should hate you.” He leaned in, breath ghosting her skin. “But I don’t.” Rising, he pointed to her wounds. “Proof I should have broken you. I couldn’t. I want you more than revenge, my throne. I need you to fear me, to belong to me.” He turned away, voice cold. “Sebastian won’t touch you. Only I will.” Glancing back, stormy eyes locked on hers. “You’re mine. You don’t get to…